by Kendall Ryan
Anna follows me back to our office. “Are you okay?” she asks, closing the door behind us.
Nausea rolls through me as I drop into my office chair. “A woman came forward saying she spent the night with him recently. How do you think I’m doing?”
Anna sighs softly, lowering herself into the chair across from me. “Maybe it’s for the best. I mean, this whole project was crazy. Very nineteenth century, the idea of an arranged marriage. And then with things getting complicated between the two of you? This was a recipe for disaster from the onset. You see that, don’t you?”
I never imagined Sterling and I would have a connection like that. Of course, I think he’s attractive; even a blind nun could see that. I figured that maybe there would be some mild innuendo thrown around, some flirting, but I never accounted for the deeper attraction that sizzles below the surface.
All the more reason to set him up for a date this weekend. It’s time to move on, and sticking with the original plan has never sounded better. Get Sterling successfully married off, and then collect my bonus.
“I’m just pissed that he lied to me,” I grumble.
“Amen, sister,” Anna says, nodding.
Trying to immerse myself in work, I begin reviewing the campaign that Anna spent much of this week working on. She’s really been a godsend. She’s helped with my workload since she started last week, and every day promptly at two, she runs down to the coffee shop downstairs and returns with two iced lattes. I think that’s easily my favorite part.
“I think we deserve a special treat today,” Anna announces, rising from her desk at ten to two.
“Agreed.” Today has been stupid. “What are you thinking?”
She lifts her purse from the back of her chair and winks at me. “It’s a surprise. Be back in ten.”
I chuckle to myself and watch her go.
I’m typing away, lost in my work, when just a few minutes later, I hear footsteps outside my office door. For a second, I think it’s Anna, that maybe she forgot her wallet. But that’s not right, because I saw her grab her purse. When I look up, my breath catches.
It’s Sterling.
Dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white button-down shirt with a gray tweed overcoat, he’s so deliciously British, my chest aches. His hair is pushed up in the front, and he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. He looks devastatingly handsome, and that simple fact pisses me off.
I can’t let my body react to his. Focus, Camryn.
I continue typing out the summary I was working on, trying not to let his masculine, spicy cologne totally fucking derail me.
“Did you need something?”
He slides into the guest chair in front of my desk. “Are you okay?” His tone is unusually hollow.
Distracted, I abandon my e-mail for good and fold my hands in front of me. “Just fucking dandy. Why do you ask?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he leans forward, gripping the edge of my desk. “Because my name is being splashed all over the tabloids saying I’ve been carrying on with another woman, and then I get a text from you saying you’ve set me up on a date.”
I tilt my head to the side, relieving some of the pressure building at the base of my neck. I can feel a massive headache coming on. So he did receive my text, but rather than responding to it like a normal human, he decided to confront me in person.
“I’m just trying to do my job, Sterling. And now I have a media circus to clean up on top of it, thanks to your . . . indiscretions.”
“For fuck’s sake, Camryn, that’s what I came here to tell you. That story is fabricated.”
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “They have pictures of you with her!” My voice comes out sounding wild, hurt.
Sterling rises to his feet and closes the door to my office, apparently not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation. Even if I am pissed at him, I appreciate the gesture. I don’t need my office neighbors to hear me go off the rails, to know how emotionally invested I’ve become in my job.
Taking a deep breath, I try to rein in my reaction to him showing up here.
Sterling comes around the side of my desk, leaning down to face me so we’re eye to eye. My mouth goes dry the second his deep blue eyes latch onto mine.
“Will you please just listen to me,” he pleads. “I haven’t lied to you yet, and if you understood the first thing about me, it’s that I never will.”
“I’m all ears. I’d love to hear you explain when you had the time to go out with that woman between taking me out on Saturday night, and then spending Wednesday evening with you too. Quite a voracious appetite you have. I underestimated you.”
“The story is bullshit. Those pictures are of me and my ex from months ago.”
I pause, staring at him, trying to understand how I can possibly trust him again. I’m way more involved that I should be, in way over my head. The smart thing to do would be to cut my losses and move on.
“Look at the freaking picture, Camryn.” He grabs a folded-up printout of the story from his back pocket and stabs at it with his finger. “We’re dressed in T-shirts. Do you really think that’s recent?”
God, he’s right. I’m a PR executive, and if I’ve learned one thing working in this field, it’s not to believe the tabloids. The way the media can spin those stories, you’re often left with only the tiniest kernel of truth. It’s fall in New York. Definitely not T-shirt weather.
I take a deep breath and shake my head. “Is that your ex?”
“Rebecca, yeah.”
The mental image of them kissing is singed into my brain. Shrugging my shoulders, I try to shake it off, but it’s no use. Christ, when did this get so complicated?
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you okay?”
I nod, fighting with myself to let it go. “It’ll be fine.”
“I really have to do this, don’t I?” he asks with a smirk.
“Marry? Only if you want to.”
The tick in his jaw tells me the idea is a foreign one. He leaves the perch at the side of my desk and returns to the seat across from me.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to check in on you. Wanted to come in person. I needed to see your eyes, make sure you believed me.”
“I do believe you. None of that changes the fact that you still need to go on this date.”
He combs his long fingers through the front of his hair. “Fuck me.”
I release a heavy sigh. There’s no escaping the reality of our situation. We each have a role to play, a job to do.
“She’s a nice girl. Go and have fun.”
He makes a noise of frustration and rises to his feet. “I’ll go, under one condition.”
“Name it.” I rise to stand before him. Even though I’m wearing heels, he still towers over me.
“After the date, you meet up with me—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, interrupting him.
“To debrief and discuss how it went,” he continues.
Chewing on my lip, I debate the merit of his suggestion. It’s actually a pretty decent idea. “Fine. Call me after.”
He kisses the back of my hand and disappears.
Anna returns moments later carrying a chocolate cupcake with a mountain of whipped frosting, but I’ve found my stomach is in knots and my appetite is gone.
Chapter Nineteen
Sterling
I’ve never been this uninterested in a date before in my life. And I can’t figure out why. Bianca is attractive and engaging; so, what in the hell is wrong with her?
She’s not Camryn.
It’s at this precise moment, over calamari and pints of cold beer, that I understand that I’m truly fucked. If I can’t date because I’m falling for my matchmaker, that means I can’t marry. And if I don’t marry, I don’t get my inheritance, which means I can’t take care of my mum. Rock, meet hard place.
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Nodding along to something Bianca’s saying, I stifle a yawn behind my fist.
I want to tell Camryn everything. I want to date her, want to see if it can lead to something real, but if I tell her all of that, I run the risk of scaring her off. I don’t know that she wants to be Mrs. Quinn. It’s also possible it won’t work between us, in which case I’m fucked.
Deciding it’s a risk I just can’t take, I know what I need to do. Play along with Camryn’s plan long enough to get her to fall for me.
Discreetly checking my watch again, I calculate exactly how long until Camryn’s in my arms again.
Chapter Twenty
Camryn
I pace my apartment, checking the clock yet again. Sterling and Bianca are an hour into their date, and I’m freaking the fuck out.
In an effort to distract myself, I’ve tried reading, watching TV, and baking, and I abandoned all three. A bowl of messed-up brownie batter containing salt instead of sugar was dumped into the trash, and I’m now sitting at my dining table with the latest stack of bills and collection letters that I’ve been avoiding going through.
Leafing through the pile, I try to figure out how I got myself here. I was always so responsible with my money. Having grown up with very little, I knew enough to be careful with what I had.
David the Dick did not. The first time I learned he charged something to my credit card—a set of speakers—we had a major fight. I couldn’t understand how someone I’d been dating for only a few months could do something like that behind my back. He swore it would never happen again, and that he’d pay the bill. Of course that never happened, and months later I learned he’d not only charged more to my credit card, but he’d charged items to my Amazon account, using my laptop when I wasn’t home. Then he sold all the merchandise and took off with the money. Leaving me in the biggest hole of my life.
My blood pressure rising, I make a tally of all the charges. Just under ten thousand dollars, which will be the exact amount I’ll get when I succeed in this crazy project. I have to.
Needing a distraction from the chaos on my dining table, I head into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of red wine. My cheap five-dollar bottle of wine is my weekly splurge. Well, that and the monthly pedicures I haven’t been able to give up, mostly just for the girl-time it affords me.
My cell phone rings and I grab it from the counter, giddy and light-headed when I see Sterling’s name displayed on the screen. I answer on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello, beautiful.” Sterling’s warm, silky voice washes over me.
I laugh at his attempt to be smooth. “How did it go, Romeo?”
“Quite well, I think.”
He sounds optimistic and cheerful. My stomach twists into a painful knot.
“Where are you?” he asks. “We’re still on to debrief, yes?”
Part of me wants to fake the stomach flu or a bout of chicken pox, anything to avoid having to hear about his date—that obviously went well—in all its gory detail. But of course I won’t. We agreed to this, I remind myself.
“I’m at home.”
“Great. Text me your address and I’ll be right over.”
“See you soon.” I text him my address and then head to my room to freshen up.
When Sterling arrives fifteen minutes later, I’m ready. I enjoyed my glass of wine while perched on my bathroom counter, touching up my makeup. And now I’m feeling more relaxed and prepared to hear all about his date, or so I tell myself.
He removes his jacket, and I pour him a glass of wine as he surveys my place.
“Great view,” he says, wandering over toward the wall of windows with his wineglass in hand.
“Thanks. I’ve lived here for three years. It’s cramped, but that view and the fact that I hate moving have kept me here.”
Sterling wanders from the window to the sofa, and sits, patting the seat next to him. There’s a hopeful sort of longing in his eyes, and I brace myself for what’s about to come out of his mouth.
Lowering myself to the cushion next to him, I take another fortifying sip of wine.
“Did you do anything fun tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head. “If you count binge-watching TV fun, then yes. I had a blast.”
He chuckles. “What shows do you like to watch?”
“I’m a teensy bit obsessed with House Hunters International. It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly. Not to me, anyway. Would you like to live abroad someday?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but I would love to travel.”
“What’s stopping you?” He lifts a strand of my hair from my shoulder, rubbing the silky ends between his fingers. It’s distractingly sexy to watch him.
“Money, for one. Things are kind of tight right now. Someday, though, I’d love to go to Italy.”
“I’ll take you to Italy.”
I laugh. “You can’t just take me to Italy. That’s crazy.”
“Why is that crazy?”
I pull my hair back into a ponytail, and out of his grasp. He needs to stop being so sweet and attentive. Things are already confusing between us.
“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. I want to hear about your date. Tell me, are my matchmaking skills superb?”
He takes another sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine as he swallows. “She was . . . nice.”
“Nice?” That’s all he’s going to give me, after I’ve been sitting here in agony for two hours?
He shrugs. “A bit young for me. But we got along fine.”
There’s something he’s not telling me, and I intend to get it out of him. “So, you’d like to see her again?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He takes another sip of his wine, then sets down the glass.
“I don’t understand.” I set my glass beside his. “We have a limited timetable here.”
Clearing his throat, he glances to the windows again before meeting my gaze. “Did you ever want something you can’t have?”
A wave of lust rolls through me. “Yes.” My voice is just a whisper.
Sterling leans in, cupping my jaw as he guides my mouth to his. Hot and hungry is the only way to describe his kiss. His tongue slides against mine, deepening our connection, and in that moment, I’m lost to him.
He is my everything. My unrequited crush. The source of my desire. He’s the thing my fantasies are made of.
Sterling makes me wish that happily-ever-afters weren’t just for fairy tales. Because to me, he is perfection. All that cocky British swagger wrapped up in one delicious package is hot enough to make panties melt.
Wrapping my arms around his powerful shoulders, I move in closer, kissing him back with every ounce of the hot, fiery passion burning through my veins.
His mouth is hot and demanding, and when he pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him, I’m powerless to resist. The hard ridge of his cock is nestled right between my legs, and I gasp as the firm, broad tip drives me insane with hot friction.
I squirm in his lap as my rising lust demands attention. The wetness between my legs grows, and for a moment, I’m worried he’ll be able to feel it. Then I decide I just don’t care. I rock against him as we kiss, savoring each wave of pleasure cresting through me.
He makes me feel alive and desirable. It’s addicting.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he growls.
I chew on my lip, sure that’s a rhetorical question.
“The sounds you make, the way you taste. You’re so fucking tempting.”
I know exactly what he means. Never in my life have I been so tempted to say fuck it to my morals and have a dirty night of debauchery. Sadly, I know I’m not the type who can do that without regretting it in the morning. I’ve always been more of a committed-relationship type of girl. But I think I’ve been missing out on the casual fun other people my age seemed to enjoy.
“Sterling . . .” I grip his shoulders and push him back
. “We need to stop.”
As hard as it is, I make myself climb off his lap. At the far end of the couch, I pull my knees to my chest and take a deep breath.
“You’re not dating anyone, are you?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t be here doing this with you if I was.” Pushing my hands into my hair, I release a long exhale. “I shouldn’t be doing this, anyway.”
He leans closer and rubs his thumb across my lower lip, his expression amused. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
Smiling at me, he chuckles. “You’re right. I’m not sorry. There’s no denying we have an attraction.”
“We can’t let ourselves get carried away,” I correct him, using my sternest voice. “And I’m serious this time.”
“Aye-aye, captain.”
His attempt at being funny only endears him to me more. Because, us keeping our hands to ourselves? The struggle is real.
I excuse myself to the restroom for a few minutes, and when I emerge, I find Sterling standing in front of the windows, looking out at the traffic that never seems to slow.
“Can I ask you something?” I’ve been wondering about this since we started our special project; I just haven’t had the courage to ask until now.
“Sure,” he says, turning to face me.
“What are the qualities you’re looking for in a wife?”
His gaze moves from mine to the floor. “That’s tough to answer. Never thought I’d have a wife. I never wanted to get married.”
“But you’re still going through with this, right?” I ask, suddenly feeling unsure.
“Of course. I told you, I have my reasons, but I have to go through with this.”
I nod. “I remember.”
“I suppose the qualities that are important are someone honest. Someone who gets along with my mum. It would help if we had compatibility inside and outside the bedroom.” He smirks.
“Yes, that would help.”
“I haven’t put as much thought into it as I should have. I’m sorry.”